Repetere Tenebris
by DoYouMindIfISlytherin
Summary: Sequel to Liquida Tenebris. Dark Lord Harry Potter is quite irritated with his reincarnation, thank you very much. HP/LV slash.


_(A/N This is the first sequel to LT. The second will be happening in the same time frame. This will likely be not very long; while the second will be longer, though not as long as LT.)_

* * *

_One must __pay __dearly for immortality; _

_one has to die several times while still alive._

_Friedrich Nietzsce_

* * *

Harry was well aware of himself. He had all his memories.

He just could not act on them.

He opened his mouth to speak and gurgles would follow. He made to walk and his legs just jerked.

He could not even make eye contact, it was simply to difficult to focus, to get his body to do as his mind willed.

It was infuriating.

His mother thought there was something wrong with him. She never said as much but he could feel it in the way she held him.

She had named him Adler.

Adler Guitry.

His mother was one of the few homeless people left in the world he and his lover had built.

These people had infuriated Tom.

The Dark Lord had given them every opportunity to advance, to become a healthy part of society. They were unwilling to help themselves.

Now Harry was one.

He wondered, not for the first time, if Tom had been reborn too. He hoped so.

Even in a new body, a new place, he still felt his lovers absence as clearly as he had when the horcrux was first removed.

He fussed in his mother's arms, and she changed her position, frustrated.

Harry's eyes still hadn't adjusted to the world, he could barely see anything that wasn't an inch from his newborn face.

But from what he could tell, his mother had them holed up in an alley.

He didn't recognise the buildings.

He thought that maybe he was in a different country.

It seemed as if people spoke a different language here. But that could have been his faulty infant brain at work.

He knew he was magical, at least.

There were no Muggles left.

His mother shushed him and held him tighter. She seemed to panic when he cried. He couldn't stop, it was automatic.

She tucked his head under her shirt and he felt disgust when his infant self dove for her breast like a tiny vampire.

He hated breast milk, but it was that or death.

Again.

He had thought about it, just starve himself.

But then he might just end up in another womb. He needed to find out why this had happened, and fix it.

Then maybe he could rest.

Part of him hoped that Tom had found peace, but mostly he wished that he was here with him right then.

That his mother had birthed twin Dark Lords.

Fate was never so sweet.

* * *

Harry was two when he learned he was German, living in a small wizarding village near Stuttgart.

He knew there weren't very many wizards in Germany. Or, for that matter, any place else besides Britain, Scotland and France.

"Adler, Adler!" His mother snapped, scooping him up.

He had, once again, been trying to leave.

He was sure he could look after himself at this point, he had a small grip on the German language, control of his legs, (mostly,) and could survive without breast milk.

But his mother was like a hawk.

They now lived in what Harry liked to think of as a literal hole in the wall. His mother, who he thought was named Magda, had found a large plank of wood to lean against the entrance.

The space they 'lived in' was pitiful, and wasn't quite wide enough for his mother to lay down in.

She held him tightly all through the night, and any time he managed to wiggle free, she caught him.

This continued until he was four.

He had decided, up until this point, not to let his mother become aware of who he truly was, though it was becoming clear that she wasn't going to let him go.

"Listen, mother." He said in German one morning. It became clear early on that she didn't know English, so he would have to learn her language to communicate.

The two had been sitting in a park, on a bench, his mother holding out a pan to anyone who walked by.

They only ever threw in small change.

Some of them had Harry's image, or old image, emblazoned on them.

He was now a red head with light blue eyes. Tom was sure to laugh, if he existed.

"Yes," She replied.

Harry couldn't help but feel that the woman saw him as a burden.

"There's something I have to tell you; and you need to believe every word I say." He gave another pause, hoping that she might see the seriousness in his eyes.

"I'm the reincarnation of Harry Potter."

She blinked at him for a moment then laughed a harsh laugh.

"You only say that because of the coins." She shook the pan for emphasis.

"No," Harry said in English, hoping to draw her attention with the foreign tongue.

"You've known there was something different about me since I was born." He switched back to German.

"You're being silly." She said with conviction, and Harry racked his mind for a way to prove himself.

"No, I'm not, and I need to find the Dark Lord. Something's gone wrong."

"Stop this nonsense Adler. You are no 'Dark Lord'. You are not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny."

Harry had been trying to gain back his magical prowess since he learnt to lift his head, but it was still very weak.

"Mother, give me your wand? For just a moment?" His mothers wand was her most prized possession. She had never let him near it.

"You don't know how to use a wand," She told him, her hand against her breast pocket, where the wand was kept.

"Then what's the harm?" He pressed, putting his hand out.

She looked between his hand and her pocket.

"Fine. I will humour you. Don't you break this," She warned, placing the old and worn wand in his hand.

He flinched when she did, the wand was so incompatible.

But he held it up anyway, twirling it in a way that he hadn't in years.

"Serpensortia!" He yelled it, because it made him more confident that it would actually work.

A tiny garden snake the length of his pointer finger appeared on the concrete path before them; and his mother gasped.

"Where did you learn that?"

He ignored the question, staring intently at the snake, his mother's wand still raised.

"I'm going to tell it to slither in a circle in Parseltongue," He spoke slowly, careful not to break his concentration.

Parseltongue, Harry knew, would be considered a dead language now. He wasn't sure how he had retained it, but he had.

It was just another question to add to his list.

'_Little snake, please move in a circle for me?' _

"Unbelievable," His mother said under her breath as the snake did as it was asked.

"That's not possible," She said as Harry let the spell go and gave the wand back to her.

"Is that enough?" He asked, feeling slightly weak after his display.

"How did you learn that language?" She asked, tucking the wand away and watching him as if he had sprouted another head.

"I told you." He was exasperated, but he could understand her disbelief.

"That's not possible," She said it in a shocked kind of way, kind of whispery, like it was dawning on her that maybe her son was telling the truth.

"It is." He insisted again.

She just blinked at him, her mouth moving, though she wasn't saying anything.

"I cant believe this," She said it in a way that made Harry assume that she did, finally.

* * *

He'd managed to get his mother into gear by the time he was six, and she worked in a small apothecary. For whatever reason, being mother to the second greatest Dark Lord had set her priorities straight.

Maybe she was afraid of her son. Harry had often found her looking at him from the corner of her eye, as if he might blow up and kill everyone in a ten mile radius.

He was fond of her, he couldn't help it. But she got on his nerves.

They rented a small cottage, now living in Ianstown, Scotland.

Harry had insisted.

If he didn't find Tom before he turned eleven, he would go to Hogwarts, which he lived quite close to, now.

If Tom had been reborn, he would look for Harry there.

Magda still didn't know much English, so she took Harry with her to work. He didn't mind, it was a way to pass the time.

He used it to scan the faces of every child his age, hoping to feel some spark from them, but he was yet to find his lord.

* * *

At the age of eleven, Harry received his second Hogwarts letter.

He still had not found Tom, and he had been waiting on this. Surely, Tom would worm his way into the school.

Surely he was the same age as he himself was.

He led his mother around the stalls in Ianstown, shopping for school supplies and feeling nostalgic about Hogsmeade.

There was no need for him to go there, now.

Though it was still a hub of the wizarding world, wands and books and potions ingredients were everywhere.

There was no one to hide from any more.

Harry paused in front of a shabby looking stall, the man seated behind it looked shady, and Harry took a moment to look at the wands he was selling.

He was hoping for wands made of a darker material, something that would resonate with his magical core.

"These wands aint for kiddies," The man said, shooing him away.

"Try me," Harry said, not moving a muscle and staring the man down. His mother stood behind him, shuffling foot to foot.

Harry ran his hands over the wands, smiling at them.

These were indeed the kind he was looking for.

He looked up at the vendor and smirked.

Scooping up the one that tingled the most in his hand, he dropped three galleons on the table and walked away.

He knew it wasn't enough, but the vendor didn't say a word.

Neither did his mother.

The wand was made with honey locust wood, he could see that much. He wasn't talented enough to tell what the core was, but if he had to guess, he'd say unicorn blood.

His mother took care of the rest of his list, saying she needed to practice her English.

It didn't really matter what she brought, he wasn't going to learn much. She could buy twenty copies of a French thesaurus and it would matter exactly none.

* * *

Harry decided to take the Hogwarts express, though he didn't need to.

He figured Tom might be coming from somewhere further than he was.

If he was coming at all.

He waved his mother off and pulled his small trunk onto the train. He had gone with the bare minimum with his school supplies, since he would be scarcely using any of it.

He scanned the faces around him one more time before sighing and entering the train completely. He didn't sense Tom at all, though he wasn't sure if he would, even if he was standing right next to him.

He quickly claimed an empty compartment, moving to lock the door and deciding against it.

He needed to meet people.

Though he was used to his privacy, he needed to open up if he wanted to find Tom.

He didn't even know what he needed to do after (if,) he managed to find his lover. How would he figure out why he had been reborn as a scrawny red headed German boy?

He hadn't spent his years simply idling, he'd fervently tried to figure out his dilemma on many occasions.

He'd found nothing.

His train ride passed without indecent, not one person approached him.

In his first youth, friendship had been easy to come by. Though it was not real. He figured this time people would just come to him, like last time.

Maybe he looked to bitter to be friendly.

He tried a smile, and it made his cheeks hurt.

_Well, _He thought to himself.

_One step at a time. _

"_You've been here before, haven't you?" _The sorting hat seemed amused.

"_What were you before?" _

Harry found it curious that the hat knew that he had been here, but didn't know who exactly he was.

"_Gryffindor," _Harry replied, not truly interested in this conversation.

His eyes scanned his fellow first years.

He had sworn he felt something when he entered the hall.

A little tickle where the hole in his chest was.

"_You're no Gryffindor," _The hat said, and Harry agreed. He had been once, but now his mind was as cold and calculating as Slytherin's himself.

"Slytherin!"

The hat shouted, and Harry stood, not surprised as he crossed the room to his new house.

He knew that Tom would wind up here, too. He just needed to figure out who he was.

He felt him here, and he smiled wide, for the first time since his second birth.

His Tom was here, somewhere.


End file.
